


obligatory coffeeshop AU

by Eva



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:19:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eva/pseuds/Eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Greg Lestrade is a barista.  No shame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsheRhyder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsheRhyder/gifts).



> so when can I link to the adorable comic being made of this??

***

“Your boyfriend’s back,” Sally said in a sing-song, even as Greg started putting Tall & Tailored’s custom drink together.  

“Shut up and ask for his name this time!” he hissed at her.

“And his number?” she whispered before hopping to the register and flashing her brightest smile.

“Ceramic today,” Tall & Tailored said, never being so gauche as to raise his voice, but he was nevertheless perfectly audible from the door.  Greg tried not to jump, tried not to stare, and went to grab a mug.  ”Thank you.”

“Two ten,” Sally chirped, and took his card.  ”Receipt today, sir?”

“No, thank you,” he said, pure politeness, and his eyes flickered over to Greg—who was not staring, he just happened to be looking in that direction, and he just happened to avert his gaze before Tall & Tailored’s could meet it.  

“Ah, um,” Sally hesitated, then tried an even brighter smile.  ”Name?  So we can, er, call you when it’s ready?”

Greg busied with himself with the milk (nonfat), trying to appear entirely nonchalant.  

“Mycroft,” Tall & Tailored said, and Greg gave a little sigh, unable to help himself.  Finally, a name!  And an oddly but perfectly suited one, at that.

***

Greg croaked, went crimson, and then cleared his throat as quietly as he could.  Sally was grinning evilly at him.  ”Mycroft,” he managed to call out in a fairly normal voice.

The paper in the corner lowered, and Tall & Tailored Mycroft sauntered over, every other step punctuated with an umbrella.  Greg tried to scuttle backwards, to let him take his mug from the bar and go, but Sally and Dimmock were inexplicably right behind him, each very busy with some random piece of equipment.

He would kill them later.

“Thank you,” Mycroft said, the picture of politeness, and Greg managed a nod and what he hoped was a grin, rather than the rictus it felt like.  Then he took the mug and Greg’s vision tunneled, looking at that languid, graceful hand with its long, delicate fingers—

and a ring.  Greg’s heart plummeted into his stomach.  ”You’re welcome,” he said mechanically, and managed to slide around Sally to hide in the back and stew in his humiliation.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dimmock hissed, peering in the back.

“I’m taking my break,” Greg snapped at him, pulling his apron over his head and chucking it viciously at a box of tumblers.  Sally managed to push Dimmock forward, almost toppling him, and get into the back as well.

“Oh fuck, I saw,” she said, her face twisted in a sympathetic grimace.  ”I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you acting like my mother died?” Greg demanded.  ”Get back to work!  I’m just going to take a quick break.”  Outside, with a cigarette, he didn’t add.  Sally and Dimmock slunk out of the back and Greg rubbed at his hair fitfully before grabbing his jacket.  He slung it on and turned up the collar, wanting it to act like blinders so that he didn’t have to see Mycroft on his way out.

***

Of course he was married.  Christ.  How could someone as fit as that be single?  Damn his life, anyway.

Lost in his angry, self-pitying musing, he didn’t notice that Mycroft, Tall & Tailored had followed him out the door.

“Fuck!” Greg spat around the cigarette in his mouth.  
“At the risk of being complete and utter cliche, can I offer you a light?”

Greg’s face drained of colour, and then it all flooded back as he looked up into Mycroft’s eyes.  ”Ah, um.  Yeah?”

He produced a lighter from the pocket of a suit that only looked finer, the closer Greg was to it, and cupped the flame to light Greg’s cigarette.  His hand brushed the stubble Greg hadn’t bothered to shave that morning, as was his wont for every morning shift.

“It’s habit,” Mycroft told him, pocketing the lighter again.  Greg remembered to breathe, and inhaled too sharply, making himself choke.

“What?” he finally gasped, having gotten his breathing back under control and finally noticing that Mycroft’s hand was resting on his back—fuck, could the man just give him a fucking break?

There was a merry chime of bells, and Mycroft sighed deeply, taking his phone out of his pocket and checking it.  ”Excuse me,” he said politely, “but it appears I have a meeting.  Oh, and I meant the ring.”

With that, he strode off, leaving Greg to gape after him.

***


	2. Chapter 2

***

Greg was in the back before Tall & Tailored—before Mycroft could enter the shop, but he could hear Sally greet him with a stunning coldness: “Hi.  What can we get you today?”

He hadn’t mentioned what Mycroft had said about the ring.  

And anyone could hear the polite confusion in Mycroft’s reply.  ”Ah.  A small triple soy latte with cinnamon—”

“Was that a tall, or a double tall?” Sally interrupted with a vicious sweetness.

Right.  Much as it warmed Greg’s heart that she was apparently ready to drive customers away for him, Mycroft didn’t entirely deserve this.  He slunk out of the back and said mildly, “I remember the order.  Paper or ceramic today?”

“Ceramic, thank you,” Mycroft said quietly, looking chastened.  

Sally looked between the two of them quickly, then tossed her hair and put her bright smile back on.  ”Two-ten, and thank you for being patient with me.  It’s been a rough week.”

Mycroft smiled back, though it was still reserved and small.  ”I understand.  And I apologise; I shouldn’t have expected you to read my mind.”

Greg went to make the drink rather than contemplate how the conversation happening between the two of them was directed at him.

***

“So he isn’t married, and he wants you to know that,” Sally said, chopping up one of the lemon cake slices.  ”I think that means he wants you to ask him out.”

“You think?” Dimmock asked.

“Fine, I know he wants you to ask him out.  Happy?”  She made a face at Dimmock, who stole one of her lemon cake pieces and moonwalked away.  ”What are you doing?”

Greg shook his head, tugging at his apron.  ”Why didn’t he ask me out, then?  What if he just likes the rush of having someone lust after him?”

Sally turned to face him, her eyebrows up to her hairline.  ”Did you just admit to lusting after Tall & Tailored?  Because we were being polite and calling it fancying.”

“You’re right,” Greg said.  ”I really need a coffee.”

“You need alcohol,” Sally told him.

“Why not both?” Dimmock asked cheerfully.  ”Whisky coffee!  It’s a thing,” he added defensively, when they both stared at him.

“Right,” Greg said, and turned to Sally.  ”So how much whisky did he put in his coffee today?”

Dimmock spluttered as Sally waved her hand.  ”It’s the sinus meds I made him take.  He’s out of it.”

“I’m fine!” Dimmock protested.

“Christ, Sally, we don’t even allow him the children’s stuff!”  Greg took Dimmock by the arm and pulled him into the back.  ”You’ll be fine.  We’ll get you some tea.  Sit down.”

“I’m not a child,” Dimmock said, pulling his arm away.  ”I want a hot chocolate.”

“You hate hot chocolate.”  Greg pushed him into a chair.  ”The tea is to say I’m sorry for letting this happen to you.  If you accept the tea, you accept my apology.”

“How do people function on medicine?”  Dimmock put his hand to his head.  ”This is supposed to be the day time shit.  I’m supposed to be able to drive.”

“You’re not able to drive,” Greg told him.

***

Mycroft took his drink from Greg with lowered eyes, apparently still in penance mode.  It didn’t suit him—well, it did, but it made Greg feel guilty.  And he didn’t like it, even if he was able to stare at those pale lashes with impunity.

“Can I call you Mycroft?” he asked, and felt the queasiness turn into something else, something that didn’t stop the churning in his stomach one bit, as Mycroft met his gaze.

“Please,” Mycroft said, and a small smile quirked the corners of his mouth.  ”I would be delighted.”

“I—” Greg coughed, and managed a small smile of his own.  ”Sorry about the, ah, thing. Yesterday.”

“It was my fault,” Mycroft murmured, looking down at his hands, which were curled around the mug.  Greg looked, too, and saw that he wasn’t wearing the ring.

“You’re not married,” Greg said, lowering his voice as much as he could.  It wasn’t as if there were people crowding around to hear their conversation; even Sally and Soo Lin were keeping their distance.  Soo Lin, who usually worked in the afternoons, had taken the shift after Dimmock called in sick and had been filled in as to recent events before they’d even opened the shop.

“Divorced,” Mycroft said.  ”Just over a year now.”

Greg swallowed hard.  ”My condolences.  I’m on almost three years, myself.”

“Just after your resignation, then?”

Greg’s eyes went wide.

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft said immediately, but Sally and Soo Lin were already approaching at mach speed.  

“Pretty sure it’s your break time, Boss,” Sally said loudly, grabbing his arm and pulling him away.  Greg followed her numbly, because… he knew?

“You okay?” Sally asked, pushing him into the back.  ”What did he say this time?  Does he want you to have a threesome with him and his mum?”

“Oh my God, Sally,” Greg said, wincing.

“Out with it, out with it!” she hissed, her nails digging into his arm. “Do I have to put whole milk in his drink for the next week or what?”

***


	3. Chapter 3

***

“He knows that I resigned,” Greg said quietly, looking over his shoulder to see if Soo Lin was listening.

Sally knew about Greg’s previous career. Four years ago, she’d worked at a coffee shop closer to New Scotland Yard, where Greg had been the regular whose order was ready seconds after he walked in the door.

“So... is he investigating you or something?” Sally asked, looking over her shoulder, too. “Because that doesn’t seem like something you bring up when you’re asking a bloke out for drinks.”

Greg huffed out a laugh, drawing his hand back through his hair. “If he weren’t so damn graceful about everything else, I’d think he was just shite at flirting.”

Sally drew in a deep breath. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“What if he is?” she asked, a wide smile spreading across her face. “What if your tall and tailored, mysterious lover--”

“Sally--”

“--is just really, terribly, awfully incompetent at flirting?”

Greg could feel his face burning. “Don’t ever use that word again in front of me.”

Sally blinked at him. “What? You said it first.”

“Not flirting. The... the other one.” His ears were burning, too.

“Lover?”

He couldn’t control his grimace, and Sally’s grin turned downright evil.

“I know that something important is happening back there, but I could use some help,” Soo Lin called out.

“I would... LOVE to help you out,” Sally called back, still grinning. 

“I thought we were friends,” Greg hissed at her.

***

“What sort of drink would you recommend for a chocolate lover?” Sally asked Soo Lin just as Greg tried to skulk out of the back and make for the safety of the loo.

“Cocoa cappuccino, and why is Greg wearing a vampire in the sun face?”

He hurried past them, trying to make it out the door and maybe, just maybe, take an actual break for once, but Mycroft was already there, holding the door and, quite possibly, his breath.

“Just shut up until I’ve had a cigarette, for fuck’s sake,” Greg ordered, and stomped past him.

They walked into the little alleyway in which the bins were hidden, but not quite so far back as that. Greg took out a cigarette, reminded himself that he was trying to quit, he really was, and was reluctantly grateful when Mycroft produced a lighter.

“Ta,” he said, and took a deep, soul-cleansing drag.

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft said again.

“Have one of these,” Greg instructed, holding out the cigarettes. He didn’t seem like the type, but he had a lighter for whatever reason, so...

“Thank you,” Mycroft said politely, and took a cigarette. It wasn’t until he was breathing a stream of smoke into the damp morning air that Greg was able to look away, every inch of his skin tingling.

The silence was deeper than it should have been; there should have been the various loud noises of traffic from the street, or the group that always seemed to be having a row on the corner. Something. Instead, there was a sort of white-noise pressure in his ears until Mycroft said, carefully, “I didn’t want to pretend that I hadn’t recognised you.”

“From what?” Greg said, incredulity making his voice higher than normal. It had been almost four years now, and it hadn’t been big news when it happened.

But Mycroft’s stare seemed to declare it otherwise. “They pushed you out. Because you wouldn’t play their game.”

Four years, and the sinking, claustrophobic feeling was back with a vengeance, as if it had never left. “I was never one for politics,” Greg managed to mutter, taking another drag of the cigarette and looking away.

“It was a good thing,” Mycroft began, and Greg laughed harshly.

“Yeah, a great thing! I lost my job, my wife, my house; he retired to a country estate.” Greg shook his head, the bitterness rising like bile in the back of his throat. He’d lost everything, and the Minister had walked away from the scandal of a lifetime with no repercussions, because he happened to be mates with enough higher-ups that Greg’s investigation meant nothing.

Not a damn thing. And there went the promising career of Detective Sergeant Greg Lestrade.

“Your investigation opened up a line of inquiry that allowed several compromised members of various ministries to come forward, before serious damage could be done,” Mycroft said, his voice quiet and almost contemplative. Greg looked at him sharply, but he was staring down at his cigarette, seemingly entranced by the burning ash. “Even if we did little to show our thanks, a severe and unforgivable oversight on our part, we were and are grateful. To you.”

“Is that the royal We I’m hearing?” Greg asked sarcastically, and almost dropped his cigarette and jaw as Mycroft met his eyes, with a clear confirmation shining in his own. Shaken, he demanded, “Who are you?”

“Just a consultant.” Mycroft looked down again, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “To the Crown, among others.”

***


End file.
